>Smart home living

Jennifer Phin’s Wi-Fi coffee machine is leading her down a dangerous path

>>> Hello, My NAME is Jennifer Phin, and I own a Wi-Fi coffee maker. That’s right; I am now such a slothful example of post-digital, Generation Y entitlement that, rather than walk across my house to press a button, I harness the power of the supercomputer in my pocket plus trillions of dollars’ worth of satellites, twinkling server infrastructures, and, I dunno, magical tree pixies, to do it. I’m one macchiato away from a stairlift and a fraudulent application for a service dog.

It started as a shopping trip that escalated wildly. The desired coffee maker became a bean-to-cup coffee maker, then my husband saw a Wi-Fi version. We played chicken at the checkout, willing each other to call a halt to the madness, then… it was delivered.

Now every morning I open an app and groggily paw at the WANT COFFEE NOW THX button, then the thing springs to life a few rooms away, grinding beans with such gusto I’ve had to apologize to my neighbor. A few months on, I’m starting to feel it’s unreasonable that I have to walk to the kitchen to get my morning joe.

“Can we move the coffee maker into the bedroom?” I ask my husband. “Into… the bedroom?” “I could reach out and grab the pot from bed. You could literally wake up and smell the coffee!” I am a genius.

“I could literally wake up and have a migraine, that thing is loud. And it’s Wi-Fi! What is wrong with you?”

I guess for now I can cope with walking a few steps to pick up a coffee brewed for me by internet fairies. And after a little training, maybe the service dog will do it for me. One day at a time. Who’s next? Oh, there’s coffee? I’d love a macchiato.